We decided we wanted to write about the characters in our heads. And those we see in the world outside. Our versions of their stories. Of the rustling of leaves in the crisp North Sea breeze. The smell of rain on a summer’s night. The thunderous rumble of rusty engines. The drum beats in our chest picking up speed. The fragility of an embrace. The sweat on our wrists. The roots clung to our feet. The taste of defeat. Our backs against the stems of banyan trees.

Reaching into the depths of ourselves, we pick up the pen.


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